


Goldrush

by resolutioninclockwork



Series: The Playlist [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolutioninclockwork/pseuds/resolutioninclockwork
Summary: Dorian readjusts after the encounter with his father.More mood than plot, first posted fic. Please be gentle! :)





	Goldrush

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Goldrush" by Paper Aeroplanes
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/track/15ZEsnKCybzbUsTKES6O7t

_You disappeared with violins adrift among the sheets,_  
_To finally find the calm that comes with sleep._  
_Erasing every crime in every crease._

It was far past dark when Dorian finally slipped into the rented room, leaning heavily against the door as he closed it. The day had been trying beyond words, and though he desperately needed his rest, he doubted his sleep would be peaceful tonight.

The confrontation had gone poorly, and had it not been for Cadash’s gentle encouragement to at least hear things out, it would have been over within moments. Instead, he spent hours listening to hollow apologies and wishing he could have avoided the situation entirely. No matter how much his father disapproved of him, he couldn’t shake that urge to please the man.

The ale he’d consumed after had done little to soothe the ache of his father’s words. The bitterness of it still tickled his throat, but the fog and tingle of intoxication hadn’t cut through the weight of disappointment.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Cadash in the corner. He didn’t feel up to speaking to her, and the heaviness of the day had drained his ability to form words. Thankfully, she didn’t say a thing – she just took him by the hand and led him to the bed, seating him on the edge. She helped him remove his boots and the heaviest bits of his armor, then quietly urged him further into the bed. She sat next to him, settling in against the headboard and humming softly. Her presence was warm and soothing, and she didn’t ask a thing of him. She just sat there humming, occasionally stroking his hair, and giving him the comfort and company he would never be able to ask for directly. He didn’t know how she knew, but his last thoughts before sleep were of how grateful he was.

***  
_Shield your heart with sequins and with patience on your side;_  
_A concrete path of silent battle cries._  
_Re-learn the steps they taught you all your life._

The trip back to Skyhold remained subdued. Cadash kept close to him, a constant comfort nearby. She never pushed, never asked anything of him beyond the routine discussions of travel. She also managed to quietly keep anyone else from asking. Somehow, she’d crafted this little bubble of quiet around him, letting him sort his thoughts in as much peace as she could provide.

He was more grateful for that peace than he could ever convey to her.

Their return to Skyhold was with the usual minor fanfare, and he cringed inwardly at the sharpness of it. This had been a personal venture instead of Inquisition business, and the routine welcome announcement cloyed at him. It didn’t matter that he felt even more wrung out than he ever did when returning from a physical battle.

He thought hid the exhaustion and bruised heart well, though – he’d had plenty of practice putting on his mask. He flounced towards the baths, loudly decrying the dirt of Redcliffe, the cold of the mountains, and the tedium of travel as he flitted away. It was a hollow performance, and he hoped no one looked too closely.

He just had to force through until the worst of the hurt had faded, and then he could resume his usual routine. Nothing had truly changed, no matter how it felt. He still felt his exile necessary, his father still could not respect him as he was, and his presence in the south was a constant source of tension and conflict. None outside the inner circle seemed to trust him no matter what he did.

He would change that last part, though. It was the one thing he felt he could address, and he was determined to see it through. He would keep trying. He would find a way to make something out of this disaster – his disaster, he thought.

***  
_Through veins and rivers run an element that can't be sold_  
_Moments all too fleeting to be told_  
_Lustre in the metal you can't mould_

Life resumed, and almost no one mentioned the Redcliffe fiasco in the days that followed. He resumed his chess matches with Cullen, his research in the library, and the banter with Bull that never quite felt as vehement as it sounded. It felt like things were rolling along just as they had been.

He didn’t notice that they watched him more closely, though.

He didn’t see the intentional openings Cullen left for teasing him, because the Commander’s blush was just as bright as always when Dorian made deft use of them and laughed.

He didn’t see that Bull needled him more often, but with fewer teeth – the kind of teasing that ruffled his feathers a bit but never really put him out.

He didn’t notice that there were suddenly more books to sort through in his little library nook, as the shipments had grown from a slight trickle to a steady stream of reference materials. He did notice that Tevinter volumes were starting to show up as well – specifically, the ones he’d earlier volubly complained about lacking.

He didn’t notice, until one day he did – that they were drawing in and around him, trying to quietly put him at ease and showing him that they paid attention. They saw him, not just the mask, and he found it more than slightly disconcerting at first.

He thought about confronting Cadash about it, trying to find out what kind of trick she was pulling, what flavor of joke they were playing on him. They didn’t stop once he noticed, though. They just smiled when he pointed it out and stuttered at them, and moved on with whatever they were doing.

He didn’t know whether to be infuriated or overjoyed, so he chose neither and instead tried to accept it as the new normal. By the time he’d noticed, it essentially already was.

Maybe this was what coming home should’ve felt like all along.

***

 _Gold rushed out of the poorest place_  
_And the air was laden like you couldn't make it out_  
_Blood came back to your silver face_  
_And stayed there long enough_  
_To really light you up_  
_And that's, that's how you made it back from the edge of love_

Yet again, he noticed it long after it started.

The “exercise” with Bull started as a diversion, or so he liked to believe. Something both men could enjoy without complication. It was an odd kind of safe, really – sleeping with the enemy was a way to know exactly where one stood. He had experience with that, and it made sense.

Apparently, Bull hadn’t gotten the same message.

Their time together didn’t really change much at first. At Skyhold, they lingered just a bit longer, woke just a bit later when they shared a bed. They always seemed to know where the other was, even when they weren’t actively paying attention. They didn’t always drink together, but a stool had appeared near Bull’s regular seat that seemed reserved just for him. There was never anyone else in it.

On the road, they started defaulting to sharing a tent instead of finding some reason or another to rotate out. Come to think of it, they’d been on the road together quite a lot. Cadash had apparently grown quite fond of traveling with them. The fourth spot varied a bit, depending on where they were going – but Dorian and Bull became nearly permanent fixtures at her side.

Maybe that routine was why he didn’t immediately notice that Bull was taking more hits for him instead of letting his barrier handle it. Or that Bull always made sure he got a healing potion first.

Or that when the inevitable villager with a big mouth and more booze than sense came to pester him, Bull somehow always managed to be directly behind him. It didn’t seem to matter where Bull had been, or who he’d been talking to – he would just appear, arms crossed, silently watching. Daring.

Bull really was a very good bodyguard. Not once did he have to actually make a move beyond that to make his point.

It wasn’t until Bull called him _Kadan_ that the fog lifted. He’d really found his place with these misfits and maniacs. He’d made a new family of a sort, with people who knew exactly who he was and cared about him anyways.

And, finally, someone who loved him specifically for who he was, not in spite of it.

He’d never felt so rich, or so at home. Demons and rifts be damned, there was no other place in the world he could be so safe. He blushed when it all clicked, suddenly flustered and overwhelmed, but Bull didn’t make a big deal of it.

And even after the first rush of realization had ebbed away, thinking about it consistently brought a bit of color to his cheeks and made his eyes gleam just a bit brighter.

 


End file.
